


near to us once more

by orphan_account



Category: Death Note
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Christmas, Dom/sub, Holidays, Insanity, Kink Meme, M/M, Object Insertion, Obsession, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Beyond understands beauty, understands art. In the same way that he understands blood and death and ravenous, mind-hollowing <i>need</i>.</p><p>Written for the second death note kink meme, prompt was: candy canes, sadism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	near to us once more

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" - Judy Garland.

Lawli's skin is warm and he smells like cheap soap and cinnamon sugar cookies. Beyond curls long hands around his thighs, pulls them apart and plants wet, suckling kisses across the insides, trailing them up to the sharp contours of his hips. Lawli's legs jerk slightly and his breath catches in his throat, but other than that he doesn't make a single sound.

Judy Garland sings low and melodic from a fuzzy radio in the corner, belting out something about a merry little Christmas that Beyond really can't be bothered to listen to. All he knows is that they drugged her up back when she was alive. Made her crazy. Made her miserable. He kinda likes her for that alone.

Lawli doesn't seem to appreciate the mood music, just like he doesn't appreciate the lights or the tree or the piles and piles of sweets, done up in bows of red and green and glowing gold. He just stares at Beyond, wide-eyed and still, like a deer in the headlights. A deer that probably wants to see Beyond strung up and flayed alive.

It's really kind of hot.

"B?" Lawli says.

"Yes, dearest?" Beyond strokes a hand down the white planes of L's stomach, leaning up to tongue at his ears, then down to his neck.

"Are you planning on untying me?"

Beyond pulls back to look at his handiwork. Intricate knots digging into thin, breakable wrists and pulling long legs up toward taut shoulders, twisting Lawli's lithe little body into beautiful, quivering shapes.

He strokes a hand against the half-hard cock rising up toward him, and it jerks, needy and adorable. Lawli glares.

"No, dearest," Beyond says, wrapping his palm tighter around the length, "I don't think I will."

He presses his thumb to the head and Lawli tries to hold in a soft groan, but Beyond doesn't let him. He presses harder, practically choking his cock between rough fingers, and when Lawli starts to buck, he leans in and bites down on the soft skin of his inner thigh, _hard_.

Lawli nearly squeals, sharp and pained in the back of his throat. He tries to catch his breath, but ends up just giving out sweet little pants, which only drive Beyond to bite harder, squeeze harder.

" _Stop_ ," Lawli finally manages, and after a few seconds, Beyond heeds him.

He pulls back, staring down at where the creamy white of his thighs is being stained a dark red, almost black in the dim firelight and twinkling Christmas bulbs. Beyond runs his finger though it, drawing unintelligible shapes through the sticky mess. He digs his nails in and L practically squeaks in pain.

"But this is my gift to you, Lawli," he says, leaning back and smirking.

Lawli still has the presence of mind to deadpan and say, "Is there any chance you kept the receipt?"

And that's _funny_ , Lawli's always been funny, always had a twisted sort of humor that Beyond could appreciate, hidden under the wide eyes and the silly sugar obsession. Underneath, they've always been the same, as similar as they are on the surface.

Beyond throws his head back and giggles madly. "Oh, you. Lawli, Lawli, Lawli," he says, repeating it like a mantra, interspersed with queer little breaths of laughter. Then suddenly he stops, expression growing sober, eyes suddenly sharp, dark, and perfectly coherent. "Lawli."

Lawli sees the look, sees the surprising sanity in the criminally insane, and if he had any visible facial expressions, Beyond might have caught him wincing. "You have to let me go, B," he says, quietly.

Beyond blinks, in a completely un-Lawli-like fashion, and then the look disappears, and the mad sparkle is back like it was never gone.

"Who says?" he demands, petulantly. He used to say the same thing to Roger when he and Lawli were children.

_'Killing small, defenseless animals is wrong, Beyond.'_

_'Who says?'_

A somewhat childish argument, oh sure, but a fairly effective one, anyhow. Lawli knows that better than anyone, which is probably why he doesn't answer the question directly.

"Watari is tracking me as we speak. He'll be here in a few hours, at the latest, and you will be back in your cell a few hours after that."

Beyond smiles. "Well, then that's plenty of time for us, isn't it?" He leans in again, the line of his jaw - sharper even than Lawli's - presses into the warmth of a soft, white cheek and he breathes in. Lawli smells so _good_. Beyond drags the rough pads of his fingers against the sharp bones of Lawli's collar, imagines he can feel them shifting and quivering under the skin. "Don't worry," he murmurs, "I'll return you good as new, shiny and considerably more relaxed, I'd say."

Lawli's breath huffs softly out, and although he hasn't given in by any stretch of the imagination, he seems somewhat resigned. "Yes, there's nothing to relax one like a good kidnapping."

Beyond smirks. "I was thinking, more, the unfathomable amount of toe-curling orgasms I'm going to give you, but whatever does it for you, Lawli." He trails his finger lower down, catching on a nipple and rubbing softly.

Lawli's breath catches, then chokes him when Beyond digs a nail in.

He shudders as Beyond toys with him, nipping softly at his skin, grinding his thigh against Lawli's straining cock and pressing his own to the soft skin of Lawli's stomach. He's at once gentle and brutal, devouring Lawli's mouth with teeth and butterfly kisses, biting hard into his neck and then lapping at the mess of deep, dark blood with a delicate sort of care. All the while whispering nasty, dirty, terrible secrets into Lawli's ears, into the soft skin of his thighs that can't possibly hear, but listens anyway.

Lawli comes twice before their make-shift Christmas morning arrives, when the sky turns a dull grey and Beyond bounces off of the cheap motel bed to grab a neatly-wrapped gift box from under the tree. Lawli - tied-up, helpless and altogether bodily exhausted - remains where he is, attempting to catch his breath.

"Which do you want to open first, Lovely? This one? Oh, or _that_ one?" Beyond points to a slightly larger box, all wrapped up in silver paper.

Lawli only rolls over slightly, groaning in his now slightly-loosend bonds. Vigorous fucking will do that to even the most finely crafted knots. His dark, hazy eyes roam over the shiny trimmings and trappings, stopping on Beyond's face.

"I don't want," Lawli say, softly, "any of it."

Beyond sticks out a blood-stained lip. "Not even after I went to the trouble of getting everything? Of making it so pretty for you?" And it is pretty. Like something you'd find in a display at a _Michael's_ , not in the sleazy, rent-by-the-hour motel room of a prolific serial killer. But Beyond understands beauty, understands art. In the same way that he understands blood and death and ravenous, mind-hollowing _need_.

It's all the same basic principal to him. It's all Lawli.

"Not even then," Lawli says.

Beyond looks at the gift in his hand, shrugs, and throws it over his shoulder - then pounces. Lawli can't do much more than groan softly under him, and then stutter out a cough. Beyond giggles, catches the breath on his tongue and sucks it out of him.

He pulls back after a minute or so, not having tasted close to his fill, but - even putting the gifts on hold - he still has so much left he wants to do, so many more ways he wants to make Lawli scream. Make him bleed and come and cry and _need_ even half so much as Beyond does.

"Hmm," he says, warm breath trailing over the tingling skin of Lawli's exhausted body, "I know an even better gift."

Lawli has to good sense to look slightly apprehensive before he shuts down any expression, just watching quietly. Beyond springs up and bounds over to the neatly trimmed tree he'd stolen from a near-by shop. The lights twinkle and sway as he plucks a few candy canes off of the branches. He unwraps one and gives it a little taste, before planting himself back onto Lawli - with a somewhat comical ' _oomph_ ' from the latter party.

Lawli glares, looking uncomfortably flushed as Beyond grinds his own painfully hard cock into Lawli's recently spent one. The contact is nearly painful for both of them, but for different reasons.

"Do you have to sit on me?" Lawli says, with barely any intonation in the question, but Beyond can hear the pout underneath.

"Aww," Beyond coos, "did you want to sit on my lap, dearest? I'd love to oblige, but I don't know how we'd maneuver that, as you seem a bit 'tied-up' at the moment." He giggles madly.

Lawli cocks an eyebrow. "I see that maximum security prison hasn't done much for your, _ah_ " - Beyond rubs against him, grinning - "humor."

Beyond shrugs and smirks, pressing the candy cane to the seam of Lawli's chapped and kiss-bruised lips. "I've picked up a few other little, bitty beauties. Now, suck," he commands. And, Lawli, persistently resistant as he usually is, can hardly say no to sugar, especially after several hours of consuming nothing but spit and semen. He licks cautiously, pink tongue slipping out to lap softly at the candy, and slowly growing more enthusiastic.

Lawli takes it between his lips, and Beyond sort of wishes it was thicker, hotter, more phallus-shaped, but Lawli makes sweet, little hungry noises as he sucks and… Beyond's not exactly complaining. Especially because of how beautiful it will be in the end.

Spit slips down the cane and onto Beyond's fingers as he feeds the thing to Lawli, pulling back when he becomes too enthusiastic, eliciting gorgeous, needy whines. "You're not playing fair," Lawli says, after the third time he pulls the candy cane back.

"It's my game, lovely Lawli. I can play however I want."

Lawli glares, but Beyond had watched as his cock grew harder - steadily as he sucked, then giving desperate little jerks every time he'd been denied the sugar - to the point that now he's practically leaking all over the both of them.

Beyond makes like he's going to let him have it again, moving it back toward his open, spit-slick lips, but at the last second he diverts course, pulling the candy cane away from Lawli's mouth and down to trail over his chest. He drags the end against the delicate nub of his left nipple, covering it in drops of sweet peppermint sugar and lapping them up again with his tongue.

Lawli shudders, letting out a soft whine. They're getting to the part in the act where his pride starts to slip away, when maintaining the emotionless farce becomes less important than achieving his pleasure, and he just wants it. Beyond can see it in his face, can see him blatantly struggling with the desire to give in again. And again, and again, and again.

He knows which side will come out the winner; it's the side that always does. Beyond has never believed the farce, anyway.

Beyond plays with other nipple, then gives it a harsh lick and nips at the sweet, little bud. Lawli shakes and quivers and - Beyond thinks - gives in. He moves down.

Lawli's legs part easily when he nudges at them, already tied up and pulled toward his shoulders in a show of absolute submissive eroticism, but there's enough pull from him to fight being spread open if he tries. He doesn't. Long, white thighs part and Beyond brings the candy cane down to tickle his thighs and torment his cock. Lawli groans when the the cane sweeps over - barely touching - the head, and Beyond smirks, ridiculously pleased.

The fingers of his other hand probe farther down, slipping between his cheeks and inside of him. Lawli is still fairly stretched from earlier. After they'd ground and groped each other to a first desperate completion, Beyond had slowly teased Lawli to hardness again, starting by slipping one, then two, then a few more, fingers inside him and fucking him with them, not stopping until he collapsed, spent and beautiful.

He groans again, and Beyond's smirk grows uncontrollably when he moves the candy cane down even further, stopping just before his entrance, waiting for the realization to set in.

"What are you - _oh_." Lawli gasps wonderfully, eyes snapping wide open, and he stares Beyond in the face as he slips the spit-slicked candy inside of him. Beyond can see the desire to protest swim through Lawli's face - to shove him away, to give him a good foot-shaped bruise on his chest, to rip the bonds and get out of the room, just get as far away as possible.

But he doesn't do any of that, just stares. It might be he's curious, or that he just knows that fighting is a lost cause, but the way their eyes stick together as B moves the thing around inside him is almost, almost romantic - and maybe if this was a bed of roses instead of fleas, and there were candles burning bright in the place of the farce of Christmas decorations, if they were two normal people with normal lives and normal loves, if they were two _different_ people - maybe it would be.

But Beyond broke his way out of prison to get here, fought and tore and destroyed everything in his path just to get to Lawli, just to steal him away and tie him down and break him open. To do ugly, fetishistic, mind blowing things to him and watch him love it. He shoves the candy cane hard against his prostate and watches. And he does love it.

And that's a thousand times better than romance.

He kisses him hard, fighting his way out of his thoughts and into Lawli, into his mouth and his body, and he can tell that it's coming, that the heat of their bodies is melting the thing inside him, eating away the sweet, sugary parts and making it sharp and painful inside of him.

Lawli start to thrash, and something like a quiet scream breaks out of him. Beyond holds him down, holds his hips and rubs his thigh soothingly, then bites down on his ear to distract from the pain. He just thrashes more.

"It _hurts_ ," he whispers, harshly. When Lawli speaks it's usually, if not eloquent, then at least measured, precise, and calm. The words he says now are anything but. " _It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_."

They're raw, Beyond thinks. Lawli is shucked absolutely raw.

"I know," Beyond says, the pulls the thing out with an artless flourish, throws it to the side, and slams inside of Lawli. It's warm and sweet and _broken_ in there. There's an explosion in Beyond's mind, and his body follows, convulsing inside of the conquered, white body under him.

When the white fades and the world lands back on its axis, he pulls out. Lawli has come, too, all over the both of them. He's unconscious now, and Beyond thinks maybe he's done a bit too much damage, maybe he should fix him up, maybe he should stay and hold him, put him back together. Be there when he wakes up, and let them take him back to his little white cell.

Maybe.

But, instead, he just gives Lawli a kiss on his sweat-soaked forehead and goes to gather his clothes.

\---

L wakes up back at his current base. He's naked, but there's a clean white shirt and jeans folded neatly on the small table next to his bed. He dresses and finds Watari in his office, surrounded by computers.

He just stands there, slumped and sort of sore, until Watari notices him.

"Ah, L," he says, unfazed as ever by anything he might have seen, anything he might have had to clean up. "Feeling better?"

L scratches at his hair. "Yes, I - how bad was the… damage?"

Watari smiles kindly, understandingly, even. "Not any worse than it's ever been."

L nods. He knows what _ever_ is, remembers his teenage years with B just as well as Watari. There's nothing more to say on the subject, never has been, he never wants to dwell on it - on B - more than has to. Nor on himself.

"There was a car-jacking across the street from the motel. The suspect description fits B perfectly, and I've been trying to get a location on the vehicle. We should have something in a few hours, and he'll no doubt be back in his cell by this time tomorrow."

He nods again, turns to go, but Watari coughs, and says, "There's something else."

L stops, turns back.

"I had the scene thoroughly cleaned up, and paid the motel clerk handsomely to forget everything he might have seen or heard," Watari says, "but I had the boxes collected and kept."

 _Boxes?_ L thinks, but then he remembers the ridiculous Christmas decorations and _gifts_ spread about the room.

"They're all addressed to you, of course," he continues.

L just stares. He doesn't want to deal with this, doesn't want to think of this.

Watari waits for a response, but when he doesn't get one, he nods. "I should dispose of them, then?"

L feels himself try to nod, but then, "No," he say, without even meaning to. "No."

\---

They're well wrapped and neatly package, his name on all of them - his full name - in clean, looping penmanship. He locks himself in the room and opens them all, one by one, digging through piles and piles of _B_.

There are drawings, some very exact and accurate, others exaggeratedly handsome - the only thing they have in common is that they're all of L. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. And there are notes, too. From lists to love letters, just a constant stream of words, jotted down on a hundred different kinds of paper. Some of it he recognizes - psych ward regulation, given to mental patients in art therapy. Others are older, napkins and note paper and the backs of receipts from before B's capture, from that lost period after he left the orphanage.

Almost all of it mentions L in some way or another, much of it is actually addressed to him. L reads it all, from the biggest box to the very smallest. It's like digging through the trenches of B's broken mind, horrific and beautiful and frightening.

He wants to burn it, to tear it all apart, to get out of the room and forget he saw any of it. Instead he sits there for hours, reading, looking.

The last box is small, and is the only one to contain anything but paper. There's one candy cane sitting there, with a red bow around it, and a note tied to the end.

 _Merry Christmas, Lawliet_ , it says.

L wants to laugh, also wants to hunt B down and capture him, kill him this time and finally be rid of the gaunt, white reflection that follows him everywhere.

Wants to.

Instead, he just unwraps the candy cane and slips it into his mouth. _Merry Christmas, Beyond_ , he thinks.


End file.
